The Igbo people of Nigerian culture often repeat an unfounded account of their origins. Many believe they are the lost tribe of Judah due to perceived similarities between Igbo culture and Judaism. This belief manifests in their Zionist stance on the Israel-Palestine political issue. It has also led some Igbo Nigerians to practice Judaism despite Catholicism and Anglicanism being the dominant religions and legacies of colonialism. While traditional religious practices still exist, Abrahamic religions thrive more prominently. In Igbo culture, “Chi” is a guardian spirit that guides an individual. When the physical body dies, the “Chi” does not; instead, it searches for a newborn to inhabit. It’s a concept known as reincarnation. Similarly, in Judaism, there is also a belief that a soul can be reborn after death.

Igbo cosmology has existed for centuries and has been passed down through oral traditions and cultural practices. “Chi” is a being that holds, initiates, and controls an individual’s destiny (Okoro et al., 2021). I was fortunate to meet my grandfather while he was alive and witness firsthand how he performed his traditional rituals. He prayed to his “Chi” for protection or good fortune for his family. Growing up, I understood “Chi” to mean “God” in the Abrahamic sense rather than a divine force within us as Igbo people. It’s the spirit and soul that guide one through life. In naming practices, Igbo people often add the prefix “Chi” to various names. “Chi” is a focal point in Igbo psychology. Without “Chi,” we are merely flesh that exists. “Chi” is the soul, spirit, and essence of existence. It’s one’s deity (Onukawa, 2000).

While Igbo still believe in reincarnation, the modern interpretation usually assumes that reincarnation follows gendered lines, meaning a woman’s “Chi” would reincarnate into a female body, never that a woman’s “Chi” could inhabit a male body. This assumption aligns with the rigid conservative definition of gender and sexual orientation. But what if reincarnation is not so rigid? What if “Chi” is more fluid? 

Igbo ontology is rarely discussed in popular culture, appearing mostly in academic texts. However, Nigerian authors have recently become more audacious in expressing their culture through literature. These works explore important questions about gender, sexuality, and the role of metaphysical spirit, known as “Chi,” in shaping the psychological mind. Akwaeke Emezi, in their novel The Death of Vivek Oji, poses an important question: “What if queerness and what our spirit and soul symbolize result from these beings moving from one flesh to another?” The existence of gender non-conformity and diverse sexual orientation further supports this point. In The Death of Vivek Oji, Vivek is a queer man, born to an Igbo Nigerian father and an Indian-Tamil mother, similar to Emezi themselves. Vivek is born on the day his maternal grandmother dies, and the novel’s narration suggests that Vivek is the reincarnation of his grandmother, evidenced by their resemblance, birthmarks, and mannerisms.

Chigozie Obioma’s An Orchestra of Minorities explores the concept of “Chi” in a novel told from the perspective of this guardian spirit who has to inhabit his host from the beginning. The story navigates the host’s journey from an Igbo town to Cyprus to pursue studies and back home after discovering he had been scammed. An Orchestra of Minorities gives “Chi” agency, allowing readers to understand and gain insight into its thoughts as it narrates the host’s personal life. This spirit “being” marvels at the world and narrates his host’s daily actions. 

In An Orchestra of Minorities, “Chi” is not directly linked to the protagonist, Chinonso, in the same way as Vivek’s “Chi” is. Ahunna, Vivek’s paternal grandmother’s “Chi,” takes over Vivek’s body at birth. Though assigned male and raised as a boy in 1990s Igbo society, Vivek grows up identifying as a woman. Among his friends, he was identified by his grandmother’s name, “Nnemdi,” meaning “my mother lives,” a reflection of spiritual inheritance. This name is only known to his mother, father, uncle, and brother. 

Gender non-conformity has always existed in Igbo culture. In the 1970s, after the Nigerian Civil War, a notable figure, Area Scatter, who was assigned male at birth, disappeared during the War and returned, socially presenting as a woman. In this new identity, she doubled as a musician and was not ostracized but embraced. She was performing for the “Nze na Ozo,” the highest and most important spiritual, religious, and social group in Igbo culture.

Igbo cultural conceptions of gender are fluid compared to the Western traditional definition of gender. For instance, same-sex marriage exists among women based on cultural requirements (Urama, 2019). Though the same-sex practice of “female husbands” exists in Igbo culture largely due to misogyny, it still demonstrates how our culture is not totally aligned in terms of gender and sexuality with Western culture as portrayed after colonialism. Similarly, the role of “male daughter” allows women to inherit properties without being classified as the socially acceptable “womanhood.” While misogynistic, Western marriage, shaped by Abrahamic religions, historically positioned women as property, but has since evolved progressively to embrace more egalitarian principles, and this Igbo phenomenon could approach the same. Unlike ancient Western society, in Igbo society, women were never groomed as subservient, inferior, and voiceless (Emeka-Nwobia, 2021). However, while marginalized, they wielded power through women’s groups such as “Umuada,” who made decisions in the society as the council of women in charge of peacemaking and social governance and, sometimes, as priestesses and chieftains.

When Akweke Emezi published their debut novel, Freshwater, in 2018, I didn’t fully grasp its semi-autobiographical argument until I read their third book, The Death of Vivek Oji. I had to revisit Freshwater. Unlike Vivek Oji, Ada, the protagonist in Freshwater, exists in multiplicity. The novel is written from Ada’s perspective and is narrated through the “we” plural pronoun. It reflects the Igbo cultural belief in duality, the co-existence of the human and spirit worlds. The spirit world bears the semblance of this world in its ordinary existence. These realms of the spirit and human world are not truly separate but intertwined, according to Igbo culture (Okoro et al., 2021). Given this, what’s the cultural context of gender and sexuality in Igbo society today if these worlds—spirit and human—constantly intersect? 

The Death of Vivek Oji has made me interrogate my own identity. In reflecting on my life, I see evidence that, like Vivek, I may be a reincarnation. My mother became pregnant a year before my grandfather’s brother’s wife died in the late 1990s. I was born the same year she died. My belief in God as a Deist without religious affiliation has shaped my worldview in a totally different way. Growing up, I observed the contrasting faiths within my family: my grandmother, a devout Catholic; my grandfather, a traditionalist who prayed to his “Chi,” and my uncle, a Protestant.

I was born exactly when this woman, a part of my family, died. Is it possible that her “Chi” has become a part of me through reincarnation? It could be, considering our trajectory. Unlike my grandfather, my great-uncle (his older brother) was educated. His wife was educated, too, and a schoolteacher. My aunt once told me that this woman was extremely introverted and also spoke about how her husband mistreated her. I am also extremely introverted, stutter, and shy away from meeting new people. Is this a mere coincidence?

My aunt recently explained the significance of those “marks.” She Emezi’s Freshwater was met with social disapproval from Nigerians, including non-Igbos, largely due to the author’s LGBTQ+ identity and their public disputes with a prominent Nigerian writer known for her transphobic views. They were criticized for writing Freshwater, with some arguing that they explored “Ogbanje” identity for the Western gaze without engaging their work deeply aside from a few limited perspectives of the culture. “Ogbanje” spirits are viewed by many as repugnant (Eruka, 2023). The spirit is believed to be such because it hosts the body of a newborn, bringing happiness, only to die shortly after birth. Sometimes, these children survive, and when they do, they are marked on the side of their faces. While Akwaeke Emezi describes herself as a non-binary Ogbanje, I do not. I describe myself as a queer gay man. Yet, as a child, I have always had tiny marks on both sides of my face, near my eyes, barely visible and almost faded over the years. Told me that when my mother returned to the village from the city, she had planned to stay for several months before returning to the city. One morning, my mother developed a severe headache and was taken to the hospital by my grandmother. There, in the hospital, she collapsed and died. Many family members still speculate that my mother might have taken her own life, having faced gossip and partial alienation from people in the community in which she grew up. In the Southeast Nigerian version of Catholicism, though I am unsure if this is universal, if a daughter has a child outside wedlock, the mother is prohibited from receiving holy communion for a certain period. After my mother’s death, I started experiencing recurring illnesses. I was taken to a place my aunt never explained to me, and the mark was inscribed on my face. I wonder if my mother’s “Chi” intended to shape my gender and sexuality as a masculine-presenting, effeminate gay man. By my interpretation, the mark could have been an “Ogbanje” mark used to protect children from the malevolent spirit and keep them safe (Uche et al., 2013).

This makes gender and sexuality a complex topic in Igbo Nigerian culture, particularly before the advent of colonialism. Sex was acknowledged, but gender, shaped by societal expectations, was seen as fluid. “Chi” is a personal destiny that’s assigned to every individual at conception (Okoro et al., 2021). The flesh dies, but “Chi” never does. An Orchestra of Minorities interprets “Chi” as a spirit that does not necessarily influence the flesh’s decision. It merely watches and guides. Throughout the novel, the “Chi” observes and evaluates the protagonist’s actions without intervening. This differs from the portrayal of “Chi” in Akwaeke Emezi’s The Death of Vivek Oji.

In 2020, veteran Nigerian actor Pete Edochie, then 73 years old, claimed that the “Ogbanje” spirit caused homosexuality. While his comment seemed like an endorsement of Akwaeke Emezi’s work, he likely intended it as a condemnation rather than support. If we consider Vivek, it’s reasonable to conclude that after the death of his grandmother, her “Chi” took over his flesh. This cultural belief raises important questions: Do distinctions in gender and sexuality exist in terms of our spiritual essence? Scientifically, human behavior is shaped by the psychology of the mind and soul, which governs actions. These “Chi” beings are in control of our actions and guide us. 

In the cultural context of gender and sexuality, Igbo culture has historically viewed sex as binary, based on visible sexual characteristics. Yet, its societal expectations of gender have been more fluid compared to Western societies, where sexuality has traditionally been framed as exclusively heterosexual until recently. However, in today’s world, Igbo-Nigerian society largely follows Western orthodoxy, a relic of colonialism and the broader national framework in which it exists in Nigeria.

In my understanding, “Chi” is non-binary. It takes over the body of a newborn and grants it agency. These “Chi” exist beyond societal gender constructs, aligning with their inclinations toward gender and sexuality, while biology remains fixed. Unlike Western colonial frameworks of gender, these metaphysical beings defy societal conditioning, offering a more fluid interpretation of identity.